In the Not So Bleak Midwinter
by Novindalf
Summary: Series of three drabbles to be posted over the Christmas weekend. Non-spoilery fluff. Merry Christmas! Lucas/Ros, Harry/Ruth, Malcolm.
1. Lucas & Ros

_I decided to do a set of drabbles for this Christmas, because I couldn't come up with Spooksified versions of carols/songs like I've done for the last two years. The next will be posted tomorrow, with the third and final one posted on Boxing Day. I cannot guarantee that this won't be utter fluff and total wish-fulfilment. First chapter is set in denial-land (aka Barbados) where Ros and Lucas are alive and together and being badass. Don't ask._

**Disclaimer:** Spooks is not mine, I'm just messing in Kudos' playground =)

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><p><strong>Lucas &amp; Ros<strong>

He arrived back to the smell of smoke and the sound of heavy swearing. Defence mode automatically kicking in, he grabbed the semi-automatic from in the umbrella stand and edged towards the door. One hand firmly grasping the gun, he reached forward and burst into the room.

A moment later he was stumbling back out, blindly feeling for the wall to support him as he coughed, throat and eyes smarting from the smoke. He felt a hand on his shoulder and recognising the touch, reached for her instead. The gun clattered onto the floor.

Eyes watering, Ros followed its path. "A fire extinguisher would have been more helpful," she noted.

He chuckled weakly, relieved to hear that she was just fine. "Old habits die hard," he replied, but he found it anyway and headed into the kitchen to do battle with the blazing oven.

Hours later they sat out on the veranda overlooking the bay, the table between them loaded with sun-warmed wine, barbecue chicken, newspaper hats (he'd vetoed the homemade TNT crackers) and a plate of charred pastry.

She leant against his side and closed her eyes in satisfaction. "I love you," she said, in a rare moment of open emotion.

He looked at her and smiled. "I love you too," he replied softly...

"But I'm _never_ letting you cook mince pies again."

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><p><em>Up next: Harry &amp; Ruth ;D<em>


	2. Harry & Ruth

_Thanks for all the reviews for the first drabble; I'm so pleased you liked it! This one is total and utter fluff. Enjoy! =D_

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><p>The open window let in a refreshing breeze as they gazed across to the city. The bright lights in the distance blurred to colourful glows, illuminating the Eiffel Tower in front – their own spectacular Christmas tree. He pressed a kiss to the base of her throat and she squeezed the arms encircling her.<p>

The ancient radio in the corner of the room crackled out the beginning of another song and he stepped back from her, raising his arms questioningly. Answering with a chaste kiss to his cheek, she slipped one hand into his, placed the other on his shoulder and rested her head against his chest. He snaked his arms around her back, his fingers slipping beneath the silk straps of her dress to caress the soft skin beneath, and they danced in the lights of the city beyond, the final and first stop on their Grant Tour.

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><p><em>Merry Christmas!<em>

_P.S. As a special gift, I've been working on the next chapter of Dancing Queen for the last couple of days. Will have it up before New Year's Day ;)_

_**Up next:** Malcolm._


	3. Malcolm

_Hope you all had a truly fanstastic Christmas! This drabble follows on from the previous, and hopefully rounds the little set off quite nicely =) (Plus there's added bonus Christmassy spycraft! Oh how I've missed thee...)_

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><p>The letter on the doormat had no stamps and no address. Ordinarily he would have considered it a threat, but the single word on the front of the envelope stopped him: his name, in a handwriting that should not be possible. He picked it up and slit it open, sliding out the card within. It was completely blank, but he was not fooled. He snatched a lemon slice from the decorations around the turkey platter and location the iron and used a basic-but-so-often-overlooked method to reveal the writing on the card.<p>

_Romance beat Atlanticism_, it read simply.

He smiled to himself, knowing full well what the writer was on about. He pictured the pair of them together in Paris and smiled.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered.


End file.
